


Right Behind You

by voxanonymi (spasmodicIntrigue)



Series: Ignoct Week 2018 [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: (roughly a 10:1 hurt to comfort ratio jsyk), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Episode Ignis, Hurt/Comfort, Ignoct Week, M/M, ambiguously platonic, one day i'll stop disclaiming that fact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 02:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13603650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spasmodicIntrigue/pseuds/voxanonymi
Summary: Agony cleaved from the top of his head to the nape of his neck. He heard himself cry out as his sight wavered and faded. His heart thudded with dread as he was overtaken by yet another vision—this the most vivid of them all.It was raining.The ring holds more than just the accumulated power of Lucian kings. Itremembers.





	Right Behind You

**Author's Note:**

> "The decision is yours to make and yours alone. But do remember we will stand with you always and help you bear your burdens. Don't be afraid to let us share the load."  
> \- Ignis Scientia, _Episode Ignis_
> 
> Ignoct Week Day 2—  
> > _Situational: Noctis learns what happened in Altissia._

Noctis had been right to be reluctant about putting on the Ring of the Lucii.

It was no ordinary ring—everyone on Eos knew that. Precisely _why_ was the part that wasn’t so crystal clear. The Crystal. The ring channelled it. The Kings of Lucis channelled the Crystal through the ring, and the ring connected the power and legacy of each successive king. All hundred and thirteen of them—hundred and fourteen, now.

It felt… darker than Noctis expected. The Crystal was supposed to hold a light to drive away the darkness; he himself was supposed to be the King of _Light_. Yet when he used the ring, when he tore the energy—the _life_ —from any daemons or rogue magitek troopers that threatened him, it was a reddish darkness that edged into his vision. Not the icy blue he’d come to associate with his ancestral powers.

It was a means to an end, all the same. The ring allowed him to fight, and that was enough for Noctis. The headache, he could endure. The feeling of his skin sloughing away in ashy flakes, bearable. The visions of the ascension of a hundred and thirteen kings before him, endurable. Barely.

That was another thing about the Ring of the Lucii. It didn’t just connect the power of the Lucian kings: like video files on a hard disk drive, it remembered each successive ruler’s first time donning the ring. The Memories of the Lucii.

It had come as a shock, at first. He’d been turning snaga to slush by a door lock control panel one second. The next, he was assaulted by a spike of pain through the top of his skull, and flashes of strange faces and unfamiliarly familiar places. That’s all the visions were, at first: brief flashes. Little vignettes, like when Titan had been calling him.

It took him a while to figure out exactly what was happening. At the most inconvenient times, as he was using the ring to guard his life, his head just seemed to short-circuit and he… saw things. It wasn’t until he started recognising some recurring patterns that he realised what he was seeing. He’d wondered if maybe the visions of kneeling before the Crystal, or standing before a great crowd, or in front of the throne, might have been glimpses into his own future. But each crowd was a little different. The throne room changed subtly over time—the colours and material of the hangings, the gilt on the handrail, the lustre of the throne. Only the Crystal remained unchanged.

A few memories stood out from the others. They were desperate in a way Noctis could relate to: fighting across a chaotic battlefield, mud- and rain-soaked, to a crumpled and bloodied corpse dressed in the royal mantle. Staring across a packed dining table as another man, crown affixed to his head, slumped dead into his meal. One king, withered and decrepit upon the throne, was trying to say something. But the words didn’t escape his mouth before he simply crumbled to dust, sending the crown and ring skittering to the floor. The latter came to a stop by his son’s feet—the feet of the next king. Noctis’ great-times-something grandfather.

The ascension of each Lucian king (and a few queens) had, in most cases, immediately followed the previous monarch’s death. Noctis was a special case in more ways than one, it seemed. Lucky him.

The visions, the _memories_ , became more vivid as he pushed through Zegnautus Keep, doing his best to ignore Ardyn’s taunts. The memories became longer and more detailed as they became more recent. As Noctis slowly made his way through his entire backlog of ancestors.

When he eventually retrieved his father’s sword, it was a sad sort of relief. Poor Ravus. Noctis couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. It felt good to have a sword in his hand again, but he felt guilty about feeling good. Because it had come at a price. Another sacrifice for his sake. Gladio and Ignis had always said he was too forgiving—and maybe they were right. But Prompto, who saw Noctis from a civilian’s perspective, claimed it was one of his best qualities.

So he forgave Ravus.

Shortly after, pain cascaded through his head and the most lucid vision yet filled his field of view.

He was looking down into an obsidian coffin. The face of its inhabitant was familiar, but slightly wrong—like when someone you see every day gets a haircut, and you can’t quite put your finger on it at first. The man looked like Noctis’ dad, but it… couldn’t have been.

In the vision, he reached down to hold the dead man’s hand, for only a moment, before removing the ring and sliding it onto his own finger. He stepped back from the coffin as two attendants dressed in black hauled the heavy lid over it.

A cool, petite hand slipped into his own. He looked to his left, at the gently smiling face. Deep blue eyes, framed by dark, feathery hair.

Noctis returned to himself with a jolt, crouched uncomfortably in a wide crack in the wall. Uneven footsteps echoed past. He knew full well that he’d just witnessed his grandfather’s funeral, his father’s ascension, and… his _mother_ …

He pushed against the rising wave of strange emotion. Now was not the time to be overcome. The visions were done now, he realised. He’d seen the most recent king: now there was only him.

He had no way of knowing how wrong he was about that.

Barely twenty minutes later, he nearly faceplanted into a metal desk as pain shot through his head again, showing him a room in the citadel. His father stooped, injured and bleeding. A heavily-armoured Niflheim general, oversized sword in hand. Burning… _burning_ —his arm was on fire! Pink and blue and translucent and _hot_. And in the corner of his vision, rushing into the room beside a familiar-looking Kingsglaive: Luna?

_Ravus_ , he realised as he regained awareness.

The visions had to be done _now_ , right? Luna had been there, in that last vision—she must have picked up the ring then and kept it with her until Altissia.

It was even less time before he found his vision fading out again, punctuated only by bright white pain in his cranium.

Again—Luna. Dirt on her desperate face, glancing between him and something in front of them. The armoured general from Ravus’ vision. His own hand (clad in Kingsglaive gloves) clutched hers, prying it open, extracting something cold and hard. The ring. Pain, sharp but momentary. Then he turned, blocking the armoured man’s sword with a hastily-cast shield.

Something was snuffling by Noctis’ face. He opened his eyes, nearly jumping clean out of his skin at the sight of a snaga’s twisted face leering into his own.

The ring made short work of it, but oh _god_ , his head wouldn’t stop aching. His whole _body_ was aching, trembling with the strain of this never-ending slog, these never-ending visions—what was he going to find out next? That Luna had tried on the ring for fun while she’d had it? It _had_ to be done now. It had to be. There was nothing left to show him, to—to _torture_ him with!

He slumped into the next hallway, nearly passing out from sheer relief at the sight of a blue dormitorium sign straight ahead. A momentary refuge. The sign swam in and out of focus as he stumbled towards it, lurched through the door, and collapsed onto the nearest bunk, boneless. He couldn’t go on like this. At some point, the headache had become a permanent fixture, seeping down his spine into his limbs. His limp, which he’d worked so hard for twelve years to suppress, had returned in full force. His right knee protested against the slightest movement. His right wrist, too, had gone stiff. Little electric jolts ran up and down his forearm whenever he moved it.

All those years of physical therapy out the window. All thanks to a fancy bit of jewellery.

Noctis would have slept if he could, but the paranoia, the anxiety, the fear wouldn’t let him. He could lock the dormitorium, but without someone to stay awake and make sure it _stayed_ locked, he couldn’t even be bothered hitting the control panel.

This was never going to end, was it? His friends were probably dead. Ardyn was going to lead him in circles until he lost hope and begged for an end, or let a rogue axeman’s wild swing find its mark in Noctis’ neck. Hell, the Crystal probably wasn’t even here.

The whispers of the ring said otherwise.

Noctis wrenched it off his finger, tempted to fling it across the room and never touch it again. Instead, he blacked out from the rush of power leaving his body.

When he came to (seconds-minutes-hours later, who knew?) the ring lay innocently on the mattress in front of his nose.

Feeling no better for his impromptu nap, he hauled himself upright. Before he could give it too much thought, he pushed the ring back onto his finger.

Agony cleaved from the top of his head to the nape of his neck. He heard himself cry out as his sight wavered and faded. His heart thudded with dread as he was overtaken by yet another vision—this the most vivid of them all.

It was raining. Faintly, he could feel his sodden clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin. A stone surface beneath him. Unrelenting metal hands pressing him down.

Through slightly unfocused vision, he thought he could see… himself.

The part of him that was still _Noctis_ felt his heart stutter and stop.

Ardyn. Looming with that smug fucking look on his face. Saying something that went unheard over the hissing roar of blood in Noctis’ ears.

Ardyn pulled a knife. Knelt by Noctis—the Noctis in the vision—and grabbed him by the collar, angling the knife towards his throat.

The owner of the eyes Noctis was seeing through (and he was sure who it was but didn’t want it to be) struggled and yelled. Out of nowhere, the knife was knocked from Ardyn’s hand, and the Chancellor tossed Noctis aside like a toy he’d become bored of.

Even through blurred vision, the ring was plain and clear on the glossy, wet floor by Noctis’ fingertips.

(No, no, no, no, no.)

Ardyn reappeared, talking (always talking, taunting). A malicious black-purple magic danced at his fingertips.

The tear of metal fingers was the faintest discomfort as Ignis (it couldn’t be; it had to be) finally broke free from the MTs restraining him, snatching up the ring as he struggled to his feet.

(No, no, no, no, _no_.)

He put on the ring. Pain, hot and bright across his face, his eyes. Vision fading in black-purple patches. Noctis, unconscious, in the centre of his narrowing field of view. Clear as glass, one last time.

Noctis came back to himself with a strangled gasp-sob-cry.

“ _Why_?” he found himself saying, gasping as if he’d been holding his breath for ten minutes.

_I need to find them_ , he thought to himself once he’d calmed down a little. _I need to find them so I can—_

What? Thank Ignis for his sacrifice? For, presumably, not letting Ardyn stab him in the fucking throat? Apologise to him? _What?_

Noctis decided he’d figure it out when it came to it, and left the dormitorium.

 

For reasons he couldn’t even explain to himself, Noctis was putting off his confrontation with Ignis. He’d half-expected everything to come tumbling out of his mouth the moment they’d reunited, but for one, he’d been preoccupied with nearly dying. And two, he had no idea where to even begin. “ _Thanks for saving my ass, guys. Oh, by the way, Ignis: I know what happened in Altissia! The magical hell ring showed me._ ” Yeah. No. Especially not with Gladio standing there—this was between Noctis and Ignis. No one else needed to be involved.

But, man, seeing Ignis for the first time since learning the truth had certainly brought up a muddled whorl of contradictory emotions. Along with that feeling you got after having a strange dream about someone, and couldn’t help but see them in a slightly shifted light for a little while after. Perhaps _because_ of all those feelings, Noctis had been struck dumb of all vocabulary that might have been useful.

Even when they found Prompto, bruised and tormented, and stopped to rest for a while, Noctis told himself it wasn’t yet the right time.

They continued through the keep.

When _would_ it be the right time? Possibly never. Perhaps as soon as possible was the _only_ time. They had no idea what else Ardyn had in store for them, and no illusions that it would be anything less than diabolical. What if they didn’t all make it? The notion grew stronger every time Noctis let an opportunity to speak up pass him by. He couldn’t just wait until they were out of the keep, out of Gralea, out of Niflheim. By then, it could be too late. At any damn _minute_ it could be too late, given how many daemons were lurking in every shadow of this forsaken place.

It was a horribly pessimistic way to be thinking. Noctis was even a little scared of the images his thoughts evoked. But it was true: he didn’t have time to procrastinate. He was no longer the somnolent, moody prince. He was the king. The ring on his finger was proof. He had to start acting like it.

 

They tumbled into the dormitorium, each of them out of breath. Gladio slammed his fist into the control panel, and the doors hissed shut in front of the three Uttu pursuing them on eight legs apiece. With only eight legs between the four of them, they figured they were seriously outnumbered and had decided on a strategic retreat. _Strategic retreat_. Definitely not a panicked escape.

Noctis collapsed to his knees, head throbbing. The strain from the ring had let up now that it’d shown him all there was to see, but he was right on the edge of stasis. The ring didn’t exactly make that easier. If not for his depleted magic, he would have dispelled the daemons into Alterna and had done with it. But the spell was enough to send him into stasis fully rested (or as rested as he could get in this place). From an already dangerous level of magic exhaustion, casting Alterna would be flirting with death.

“That was _close_!” Prompto breathlessly exclaimed. Like Noctis, he’d sunk to the floor where he stood. “This place is seriously doing its best to end us.”

“And it will succeed, if we don’t remain cautious,” said Ignis. He held out his cane, waving it until it clanged against the metal frame of the nearest bunk. Then he shuffled over and lowered himself onto the mattress.

Gladio sat down across from him. “Only a little further to the hangar, right?” He massaged his temples with his thumb and forefinger. “We’ll be out of this hellhole before we know it.”

“Can’t wait for that,” said Prompto. Ignis’ jaw tightened. If Noctis hadn’t been watching him, he wouldn’t have noticed. He wondered what that was about.

“We ought to rest a while,” Ignis said. “Properly. This is a marathon, not a sprint. No use in rushing towards the finish line when we can’t see the hurdles from here to there.” He pushed his glasses up his nose, terse smirk tweaking his lips. “Literally, in my case.”

Noctis’ heart cowered. Ignis had started making _jokes_ about his blindness. It should have been a heartening sign of adjustment, but given what Noctis had learned…

This was it. This might be his final chance to say something, here, in this room, while they rested.

“Seconded,” Prompto groaned, hauling himself up and plopping down on the other side of the mattress Ignis sat upon. “I’m beat.”

“No arguments here,” said Gladio. “Whose turn to keep watch?”

Noctis opened his mouth to volunteer, but was beaten to the punch.

“Mine, I believe,” said Ignis, the tone of his voice daring them to argue.

Prompto and Gladio shot each other an uncomfortable look. “You should rest, Ignis,” Prompto said cautiously.

“I _will_ rest,” said Ignis, “once it is someone else’s turn to keep watch.”

“I’ll join you,” Noctis forced out. “On watch,” he clarified.

Three faces turned towards him.

“You need rest more than any of us, Noct,” Ignis said quietly.

“Hypocrite,” Gladio coughed.

Even blind, Ignis still had a talent for shooting blood-freezing glares. “I concede the point that I can’t keep _watch_ , exactly, but nothing in this keep does anything without echoing, and I’m more than capable of keeping an ear out.”

“Ignis, I trust your ears better than my eyes,” Noctis began. “It’s just easier if we go two for two, isn’t it?” Ignis frowned, still unconvinced. “I’m… not sure I could sleep right now, anyway,” he added.

Ignis sighed. “Very well.”

“You sure, Noct?” Prompto asked. Noctis nodded. “Okay… well, wake us in an hour?”

“Ninety minutes,” Ignis corrected, standing to let Prompto have the bunk. “Better to at least complete a sleep cycle.”

Gladio shrugged and lay back, stretching out on the too-small mattress. “Won’t hurt,” he yawned. It was a testament to how exhausted he must have been, Noctis thought, that he didn’t make some complaint about wasting a total of three hours.

Ignis’ cane brushed against Noctis’ arm. “Noct? Why are you on the floor?”

Noctis got to his feet, a little unsteadily. “I’m not.” He took Ignis’ hand—“Come on”—and led him over to the bunks against the opposite wall. His heart was pulsating in his ears. He still hadn’t figured out what to say.

_You have an hour and a half_ , he told himself. _Figure it out_.

“Are you alright, Noct?” Ignis asked. Shit, he could probably feel Noctis’ elevated pulse through his hand. He let go quickly.

“Bunk behind you. Mind your head,” he instructed. “I’m fine. Why?”

Ignis sat, laying his cane across his lap. Noctis sat across from him—well, sort of. There was so little space between the bunks that he had to sit a bit to the side, his right knee brushing against Ignis’.

“You were alone for hours, with no weapons and no way to know if the rest of us were even still alive,” Ignis said gently. “I don’t think anyone can truthfully claim to be ‘fine’ after going through that. And you’ve been quiet. More than usual.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. When was Ignis ever? How did being blind somehow make him more observant? Noctis had been quiet because he hadn’t been able to find the words. Or perhaps he’d become accustomed to lonesomeness, even in so short a time.

There was one thing Ignis said which wasn’t entirely accurate, though. “I wasn’t completely weaponless.” The fingers of his left hand drifted towards the ring, twisting it on his finger. The metal was cold, as if immune to his body heat. He considered taking it off for a moment, before remembering his resolution. He’d never once seen his father without the ring. He doubted any of the other hundred and twelve Lucian monarchs had wavered, either. Noctis had to be that strong, now. He didn’t think he could. He needed to try.

“Ah, yes,” Ignis said slowly. “How… does it feel?”

“Awful.”

Ignis swallowed audibly. “I’m sorry I let us get separated. The Ring of the Lucii is… too heavy a burden for one man to carry alone.”

_Say something,_ Noctis told himself. _Now’s your chance. Say something, you coward!_

He glanced over at Gladio and Prompto. By the looks of it, they were fast asleep already. He turned back to Ignis and forced the words up his throat, down his tongue, through his lips:

“You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

A strange expression came across Ignis’ face. “Sorry?”

Shit. That had come out harsher than intended. _Great job, Noct_. He glared at the floor between his feet. “The Ring of the Lucii,” he said softly. “It showed me things. Memories.”

“Memories?” Ignis breathed the word as if it were something vast, powerful, and fearsome.

“Memories of all the ring’s previous wearers,” Noctis forced out. His fingers tightened around said ring, fitted onto his right hand’s middle finger as if it were harmless. As if it were any old ring. “Every. Single. One of them.”

Ignis kept his silence for a long time. Noctis didn’t look at him, wasn’t sure he wanted to see his reaction.

It seemed that, for once, Ignis didn’t know what to say. Noctis couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “Were you planning to tell me?” he demanded, voice cracking.

“No,” Ignis admitted thickly.

“Why not?”

“Because I…” He breathed in. Out. “I wasn’t sure if you would forgive me.”

Noctis’ eyes shot up. He was immediately taken aback by the plump tear wending its way down Ignis’ cheek. “ _Forgive_ you? For sacrificing your sight to save my life?”

“For using a power I had no right to in order to save your life,” Ignis corrected. “You and you alone, Noct, may wield the ring. You are the only one who has the ability, and the only one who has the right. I… wasn’t thinking clearly. I was afraid.” He inhaled sharply, fists clenching around his cane. “I was arrogant enough to think that perhaps my intentions were pure enough for the Lucii to grant me clemency. I thought myself different from Ravus, who wielded the ring out of a conviction that he, not you, was the Crystal’s chosen. I harboured no such delusion, but it seems he and I are not so different.”

“You’re nothing like him.”

“I am. At heart, we both wanted the same thing: to save someone we love.”

The air felt thicker, harder to inhale. “I just wish you’d found a better way to do it.”

A watery smile came across Ignis’ face. “That’s another reason why I was reluctant for you to know. I feared you would blame yourself.” (Noctis huffed). “I made my own choice, Noct. Perhaps I could have found an alternative—perhaps the ‘Chancellor’ was only bluffing in his threat to end your life. But I couldn’t risk it.” His face crumpled inwards like a discarded sheath of paper or a collapsing star—eyebrows disappearing behind tinted lenses; nostrils narrowing; mouth pressing into an uneven line. Abruptly he reached out, sending his cane clattering to the floor. His hand uncannily found Noctis’—his right hand, the hand with the ring—and grasped it as if it were the only buoy in a frigid ocean with no land in sight. Noctis didn’t want Ignis to drown, so he let him clutch as tightly as he needed.

“I forgive you,” Noctis whispered. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

Ignis’ head was ducked so that Noctis wouldn’t see the tears cascading down his face and dropping into his lap. Noctis understood. He, for one, was glad no one could see the tears brimming in his own eyes—out of shock and exhaustion more than anything, he figured.

“There are a great many things I can live without, Noct,” Ignis said. “I can live without my vision. But I don’t think I can live without you.” He was holding Noctis’ hand in both of his own, now. Noctis didn’t know what to do.

“I’m here, Ignis,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon if I can help it.”

Ignis shook his head. “Please, Noct. Please don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“What do you mean?”

Ignis’ mouth opened. Then closed. He squeezed Noctis’ hand impossibly tighter (he didn’t mind). “I can’t protect you from everything.”

“You don’t need to,” Noctis assured him. “I can protect myself, sometimes. Gladio and Prompto are here. And _my_ choices are my own, as well.”

“Of course,” Ignis breathed. His grip loosened slightly as he brought Noctis’ hand to his lips, and kissed it. Chaste; the brush of a spring breeze. Yet intimate enough for a gentle warmth to blossom across Noctis’ cheekbones. “Whatever those choices may be, I’ll be right behind you.”

Noctis smiled, reaching out with his free hand to wipe a stray tear from beneath the rim of Ignis’ glasses. “I know you will.”

**Author's Note:**

> This one was one of the harder ones to write. Partially because I had to go back and rewatch scenes from Kingsglaive, just to be able to write literally two paragraphs. But I'd set a precedent and couldn't exactly leave them out. I don't begrudge doing research, it's just... I dunno. Maybe I took the wrong approach by literally just recounting canonical events, but it was _necessary_ to get where I wanted to go! They say the journey matters more than the destination but the destination was definitely the more important factor here. That's probably a bad sign. I'm too tired to care.
> 
> As always, you can find me on [tumblr](https://voxanonymi.tumblr.com/). See you tomorrow with more ignocty angst ;) I mean angsty ignoct. Both? Both is good.


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